


pilgrimage

by kaixo (ballpoint)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, Travel, myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/kaixo
Summary: Inspired by the myth of Pochettino's pilgrimage to St Montseratt, Dele decides to follow in Pochettino's footsteps. Eric and Harry go along for the ride, because, just because.





	pilgrimage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the football kinkmeme August challenge. This month’s theme is myth/legend.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"But.. that is --" Harry started, rubbing at his lower lip. "A myth."

"It worked for Poch," Dele retorted, and okay, Harry had to admit, Dele might have had a point. Everyone knew the story. Pochettino's Espanyol had been facing relegation then. In a fit of inspiration, he undertook a journey to Montserrat, asked for... an intercession and his team had stayed up in the league. Which... Harry wasn't really into fate, but Dele... you couldn't say no to Dele. Not when he had that light in his eye, and that sharp grin.

"What does Eric say?" Harry tried for an out, because if Eric said no, well, it would be no, because Eric was a sensible lad. Had his two dogs, worked hard, willing to put his hand up when called on. Also he was entirely too sensible to be looking to go to Montserrat in the middle of the week, and just before season started to ask for miracles.

"I..." Dele started, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I haven't asked him as yet. Because of what happened the last time."

Ah yes. 

The last time. 

When they went to Holy Island, on the coast of Northumberland and somehow got stranded on said island when the tide started to trickle in. Eric ended up losing a shoe crossing the muck from the spit to the mainland. 

Somehow - Eric maintained that he was still too traumatised by the experience to share the details- his camera had gotten nicked by a seal. 

Not that Eric hadn't forgiven Dele - because you couldn't not _forgive_ Dele when he really tried to set things to rights, but... you couldn't really trust Dele with his ideas either. 

Madcap, Winksy had fumed for _days_ , when Dele somehow convinced him to dye his hair purple and it came out fluorescent green. Charity or no charity - Winks had been livid.

"Okay," Harry agreed carefully. "I'll float the idea, and we'll go together. But...Dele, if it ends up being crazy..."

"You won't ever have to listen to me again.”

That alone was the blessed out.

***

The Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey was located in the mountains of Montserrat, beyond the jolly city of Barcelona.

Oh, Harry had been to Barcelona. 

Did the tourist bits like Parc Güell, marvelled at the fevered dream made reality of the Sagrada Familia like everyone else. 

Also, because he was a student of football, and knew his place in The Order Of Things, he'd visited Barcelona at the Camp Nou. Sat in the stands and absorbed the _feel_ and the history of football there. His heart beat for Tottenham - his one and true love- but love didn't make him blind to the beauty of other clubs. 

But you had to leave Barcelona to get to Montserrat. 

Montserrat - where you had to take a train and then one of those cable cars where the ground and mountains rose and fell away, leaving nothing but sky. Eric and Dele looking out through the window, dark glasses shielding their gaze, their hands splayed against the glass. Hugo, bless him, had come along at the last minute, "Because I'm the captain," he'd said with dark amusement, "and this journey matters to me too."

***

"Wow," Eric had said, briefly glancing around him. They were outside the Abbey, map in hand, because it was too remote for his phone signal. They were near the Capella de la Soledad de Montserrat. Locally known as the Church of the cats, the contrast of cool stone with the verdant green surprised and soothed, because even in the mountains, the sun scorched the air.

Unlike the bustling monastery twenty minutes away, here, the building deserted, and quiet. Small, about the size of a terraced house, and _humble_ , especially compared to the grand scale of the Abbey they'd left behind. The cluster of buildings the colour of sandstone, with its neat, straight lines, elegant carved statues in the walls.

They were on the steps in front of the Chapel, under the trees forming a canopy throwing them in shade against the late summer sun. 

"You have to -- believe," Dele had said, scrunching his face at his phone. He'd downloaded the bumpf from the websites before coming into the world of no signal. "Like... Pochettino did."

"He did so out of desperation, though," Eric replied, looking up at the sky, through the bulky lace of patterns of branches and leaves interlacing together. "We aren't really desperate."

"Oh we are," Dele laughed, and it had an edge to it. "We really are."

"Dele -" and this was Eric, looking for somewhere, anywhere to sit down, but like the phone signal, they'd gone out of the range of benches. The Abbey behind them, the ground underneath rough. "We're going to win something this year," Eric lifted his head and turned to his teammate. The bill of Dele's cap shadowing his face, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the phone. "I mean, we _have_ to, right? I don't think that we needed to come here just to see---"

Dele lifted his head at this. "We've tried everything else," he stepped towards Eric. "We've done everything else," he continued, his eyes almost wild with the passion of it. "But- Eric, it's been. You've been at Spurs for four years now, and we're close, like one hand on the trophy close, but we've never won anything."

"I know."

"And, I know that this is crazy, but --- life is crazy, you know?” 

"I know," and because Eric knew, he sighed. "What are we supposed to do? I mean, I know that we're making pilgrimage -"

"We're pilgrims," Dele huffed in faint amusement, "that’s barking."

"Dele --"

"They always say the trick is to believe," Dele said, as they continued walking along the path.

The ground rough underfoot, but not coarse enough to pierce the soles of their trainers, nor trouble their ankles. The rugged beauty of their surroundings tugged at Eric's heart, because it was similar to the terrain of the South of Portugal, with its bare mountain faces looming over the Abbey, and vegetation criss crossing the oversized cracks. The mountains in the distance a serrated outline against the blue of the sky.

"I mean, we do," Eric said eventually, looking away from their surroundings to face Dele. "Or why bother to tug on the shirt, to turn up and train and practice shape. Knowing that there's a one in twenty chance -not even one in six- because of Leicester winning the title back then. I mean, the fact that we turn up should be belief enough, yeah?"

Dele shrugged, an easy movement of shoulders. "I don't know if that's enough," he said. "But we're here," he threw his arms out, as if mimicking Julie Andrews in in the _Sound of Music_ \- an old movie that Eric's mum and sister had been mad about. Instead of being in a dress and apron, Dele clad in tee-shirt, jeans and trainers. However, his _spirit_ still there, something wild and happy, even with their errand being a bit serious. 

Not that he'd ever tell Dele that, because Dele would use it as an excuse to _sing_ and no, they weren't having that on this fine day.

"I think you have to genuflect."

At Dele's raised brows, Eric explained, as he stepped closer to his friend, rocks crunching underfoot. "Not pray, _necessarily_ , but ask for what you want and why. I mean, coming here is the half of it, but you aren't really _here_ until you ask for it with everything-” Eric broke off, pushing a splayed hand against Dele’s chest, over his heart. “I mean, like Poch did."

***

Although it was still early August, the evening drew closer too soon.

The sky with the strange colours it threw up this time of the year, with shale greys and an almost shocking green. Dele had broken off from the rest of the lot, drifted into the basilica, fingers linked in front of him. He'd reflected, no less sincere than he did when he'd step on the pitch before a game, be it home, or away.

Dele looked at the tiled visage of the Madonna in front of him. 

He’d stopped at the Ave Maria path, the bit of landing you paused in respectful silence before you moved on and out of the basilica into the light outside. After seeing the black Madonna for a few moments, he’d been ushered out the room, into this path. His eyes blinking at the colourful grid of candles rested along the stone wall. The soft light of the coloured candles casting the surroundings in a comforting glow, the tiled work as luminous as jewels. Here the Madonna sat, child on her knee, golden orb in curved palm. 

"It's not the same as relegation," Dele murmured, "nor should it be, but I want us to win silverware this year. It's not a crime to want things, or else people wouldn't show up here, to ask. But, for the gaffer, H, Hugo, and for the rest of us lads, it would be nice to win something, before we can't anymore. Before--- we move on."

And that was it, wasn't it? 

Easy enough to say, in the end. 

Easy enough to want, even though wants didn't get, but you had to _want_ something to work towards it, because-- and Dele moved on, mindful of people milling around him, rosaries snaking around their fingers, their faces twisted with hope and agony. 

He made his way out, stood in the car park, headphones in ears, but the music not on, as he absorbed the sounds around him, brain filled with what he’d just experienced. On what he’d just asked. 

Dele tugged out of his thoughts by an arm swinging around his shoulder, and yeah, okay.

"Really, H. You're still wearing it?"

"I like it," Harry said, tugging at his shirt to sniff at it. The scent of cologne that he was flogging, and it wasn't bad. A lot of citrus and a bit too much green notes for Dele’s liking, but _he_ didn't have to wear it. "Anyway, was I disturbing you?"

No," Dele shook his head, staring at the view before him. Roads and buildings carved into the bowl of the mountains below them. "I was just... thinking, that's all."

"You think your prayers might be answered?"

"It worked for Poch."

"Poch worked for Poch," Harry answered matter of factly. "But it doesn't hurt having a bit of luck on your side, and faith. But --- if you aren't working toward it, it's all a bit of a waste of time, isn't it?"

"We have been," Dele said on a gust of breath. "I mean... I don't know if this will help, but it can't hurt."

"No," Harry said, his voice soft with it, and Dele idly patted his hand. Harry had no time for this, he knew. To be chasing shadows on the hunt for miracles, but he had shown up because Dele had asked him to.

***

“Remember when we were at Holy Island that time,” Eric drawled in the far corner of the room, “and that seal stole my camera.”

Dele looked up from his rubik's cube. Ideally, he would have been playing Fortnite, but the season was _technically_ already underway, and a part of that was actually shutting everything down an hour before sleep to just... sleep. 

However, Dele couldn’t sleep, but there wasn’t anything online worth looking at so... rubik's cube it was. He was sat in bed, cross legged, and puzzling over this cube, and this was resting, right?

“You threw it at the seal,” Dele pointed out.

“It was being... aggressive.” 

“It was-” 

“AGGRESSIVE,” Eric interrupted, throwing himself across Dele’s bed. 

“Oi!”

“Budge up,” Eric said, scrambling in beside him. “Anyway, we don’t talk about that. Or my shoe.”

Dele half huffed, working at the edges of the cube, frowning at the white squares forming a cross, with every other square a different colour. 

“You survived Monserrat with your camera and shoes in tact, mate. Congratulations.” 

“I’m still shaken up by the whole thing,” Eric continued, a sturdy presence along Dele’s side. Eric sprawled across the bed, like a floppy cuddle toy. 

“But you came anyway,” Dele said after a minute, as he tugged and pushed at the rubik’s cube. 

“I needed to protect Harry,” Eric’s voice low and thick with drowsiness. “Pochettino would never forgive us if we lost him to a boar. Or a viper. Have you seen the mountains and caves around here? Potential health and safety issues, that.”

Dele didn’t answer, because - well, he had one side done. All white on one side. Now, dare he attempt the side for blue or red? How did Tripps’ do this, all the _time_ , and get all the colours co-ordinated, he wanted to know. 

“Do you think,” Eric asked later, eyes closed, and fingers linked across his chest, “that it will work?”

“You have to back yourself, right?”

“Yeah, but... it’s not just you, but you’re asking for - _divine intervention_.”

“Eric Dier, are you... laughing at me?”

“No,” Eric waved it off, patting Dele’s forearm, his arm staying there. “I’m not, not really. I’m laughing with you.”

Dele could only stop at stare down at Eric. The absolute cheek of it, but Eric squeezed his forearm, and smiled up at him. Just like that, his annoyance went away. “I mean, we all do the things, don’t we?” Eric continued, “step on the pitch left foot first and the rest."

And Dele knew the rest of it, didn’t he? You strapped on kinestic tape on one leg, put on the left sock before the right. You did all this, in additon to training and --

“Superstition, probably.”

“Probably,” Eric repeated, his hand falling from Dele’s arm on the bed with a soft thud. “But every little helps, right? And also-- if we do win something this year, we’ll be the ones who people will talk about. That we came here and asked, and got a trophy, and we’ll be legends.”

On reflection, Dele thought, that didn’t seem _too_ bad at all. It sounded just about right. 

“But we’ll have to win something first,” he said. 

“Of course,” Eric agreed. “Turn off the light and go to bed, Dele.”

After a moment, Dele reached over and switched off the light on the nightstand, dropping the rubik’s cube on the floor beside the bed. 

Snuggled in, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, Eric already nodding off beside him. 

Said a prayer. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe Tottenham Hotspur are going into this new season sans new players in this window. Of all the... this is beyond the pale. I will endeavour to light a candle the next time I'm near a chapel. 
> 
> Montserrat Monastery [is really stunning](https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g187501-d191040-Reviews-Montserrat_Monastery-Montserrat_Catalonia.html). It's the home of a black Madonna (they do have them dotted around various churches in Europe). 
> 
> Holy Island is [here. Yeah, when the tides are low you can hear seals lowing ](https://www.visitnorthumberland.com/holy-island)


End file.
